I Am Justice (Black Ops Confidential 1)

She looped her arm through his. “You really enjoyed it? That dinner? Despite all the giggling and talking and squeeing?”

“Squeeing?” The cobbled driveway gave way to the paved drive, and they stepped onto a sidewalk. Justice’s heels clicked against the concrete.

“It’s a sound girls make when they’re highly pleased.”

Wrought-iron lampposts lit the way. He found himself angling his walk, as if drawn to her body. Truth. He’d had worse targets. “I think I’ve heard you make that sound before. But it was louder and involved more sighs.”

He winked at her. Good thing he knew exactly how to follow up sexual banter with action. He unhooked his arm from hers and put it around her.

She leaned into him. “Sandesh, truth, if I didn’t have to sneak you past my little sisters, I’d take you up to my room right now.”

His heart picked up speed and expectations. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say to that, but doubted, I can scale the side of this house into your bedroom would be appropriate. So he settled for, “I’m good with my truck.”

She laughed, snuggled closer. After long, easy moments of silence, she said, “Did you get any vibes?”

He let out a breath. He’d had some vibes for sure. Tony. There was something there. But he didn’t know enough about any of them. Yet. “I’m going to withhold judgment. For now.”

She lifted her head off his shoulder and her eyes to the skies. “Guess it was too much to hope we’d be able to sort all of this out in one day.”

He smiled. She was obviously joking. “We have some time. Whoever it is has to be a little afraid. Afraid enough to hold back from any activity that might draw attention to them.”

She pointed ahead on the path. “That way. I want to show you something.”

They walked down lanes with elaborately carved shrubs, then stopped at a grotto lit by two spotlights. A series of iron candleholders with white candles sat along the perimeter. The sign on the outside read, BEFORE US, YOU.

Along the inside of the grotto were statues. Women with baskets on their heads, others bent as if to gather a harvest. A woman carrying a child stood off to the farthest side; another child clung to her dress.

At the center of these statues was a lone figure on her knees. Her arms thrown wide, her head thrown back, wailing to the heavens. None of the other statues faced her, so she seemed alone in her grief.

“This is my favorite place on campus. Besides the gym.” Justice bent, grabbed a long match from a lidded tin, lit it from one candle, and transferred the flame to another candle.

“What is this place?”

She stood up, blew out the match, and passed it through a slot in a small silver box. “The Grotto of Shoulders. I light a candle for my sister Hope whenever I pass it.”

“Grotto of Shoulders?”

She gestured at the statues. “These are the shoulders of the women we have stood upon. All over the world, women who were strong so others could benefit. This is why I fight. So other people can stand on my shoulders.” She pointed to the candles. “The candles are lit in memory of them. Can I light one for someone you know?”

He felt his throat grow tight. Though he’d seen her just this afternoon, she hadn’t been there. Not mentally anyway. “My mother.”

She nodded, reached over, and took another long match from the tin. She bent and lit another candle.

When she was done, he held his arms open. She walked into them without a second thought.

He wrapped her up, held her tightly, securely. He kissed her soft, black hair. “I’m so sorry, Justice. I wish I could spare you even the memory of that pain, that basement, your sister’s death.”

She took a deep breath, let it out. “The memory is my strength. I need it.”

“No.” God. No. “That’s what we tell ourselves, but it’s not the memory of pain we need, it’s the good stuff. Like me and you.”

She grabbed the front of his shirt, fisted it, and leaned her forehead against his chest. He brushed the back of her hair, uncertain. After long minutes, she looked up at him. “I’m not serious here. I can’t be.”

“What?”

“I just want you. Physically. Just sex. Okay?”

Nope. Too late for that. “Where is this coming from?”

She scrunched up her face, grabbed tighter to his shirt. “I’m not quitting the League. Ever.”

So that was it. “Look, Justice, I get it. You. This place. The kids here. Before I came here, I didn’t understand. I get it now. It’s more than war. A lot more.”

Her breath hitched. The worry in her eyes eased. She ran her hand along his jaw. “I bet you’re like some kind of grotto gigolo, making a move on the women as they swoon over the candlelight.”

He laughed. “That’s it exactly. Ready to drop your panties yet?”

Of course, he remembered a second too late that he was dealing with Justice Parish, and sexual banter was more like a pole dance than a subtle striptease.

“Maybe I was unclear earlier. Basically, you could take me behind that tree and have me.”

She pumped her eyebrows. He was seriously growing to love that gesture. She eased closer, lifted onto her toes, and angled her head. “I’m serious.”

God help him.

Chapter 51

Justice sighed desperate relief as Sandesh’s mouth dropped and slanted against her lips. She slid her tongue inside. Oh. His mouth was so hot. His strong, slick tongue so skillful.

Her eager exploration quickly raged into hot, open-mouthed, frantic kisses.

He grasped her at the waist, pulled her decisively against his hard-on. The tight ache of need sped up her heart, flushed her skin. She wiggled against him. He moaned.

She pulled away, kissed her way to his ear. “Cameras. The trees.”

Their mouths collided again. He lifted her, cupping her ass with his large hands. He carried her back behind the trees.

Damn the security cameras. Like a horny adolescent, all she could think about was the cover of darkness and his hands under her jacket.

She pulled at him, his clothes, urged him deeper into the woods. Hidden by trees and darkness, he thrust her back against a tree. His body was hot and hard against her.

The taste of his mouth, the tingle of his tongue made her entire body scream for him. More. Closer. Skin. She needed skin.

Trembling, frantic hands explored under his jacket, his shirt, found his skin, muscles, and warmth. She stroked and rubbed the sharp lines on his abs.

His hands undid the buttons of her jacket. She slipped out of it, and he pulled down the strap to her dress, releasing a breast. He expertly teased the taut, hard nipple with nimble fingers. Oh. That felt good.

His cock was so hard she could feel him throbbing against her. She rolled her hips. His breath hitched. He let it out on a moan, a deep and wild sound, a deep and wild promise that would’ve buckled her legs if the press of his body hadn’t pinned her so firmly against the tree.

She grew so hot and wet and ready she couldn’t wait. She broke the kiss, arched against him, reached for his pants. “Now.”

&nb

sp; He smiled against her cheek. He rubbed and excited her nipple with one experienced hand. She drew in a breath, tossed her head against the rough tree bark. “Please.”

“Not yet.” He pushed her dress and underwear down, letting them drop to her ankles, and helped her step free. She was naked in the moonlight and should’ve been cold. She wasn’t.

He teased the curls of hair. His fingers dipped between her legs. He murmured in appreciation. “So soft. So fucking wet.”

His fingers stroked her wetness, increasing the friction until she went mad and began to grind into his hand. He rubbed her clit with his thumb. She gasped, spread her legs wider. “Yes. That.”

She was on fire as he pushed his fingers inside. She approved, saying words in a language that she’d thought she’d forgotten long ago.

“Damn. I can’t wait to feel all this softness around my cock.”

Oh. Good. She loved that too.

“After I taste you.”

Oh. And that.

He kissed her neck. Her collarbone. His mouth descended and sucked her hardened nipple, then his tongue did something that made her cry out.

He moved lower, kissed her stomach. Her thighs opened in the moonlight. Opened for him.

He dropped to his knees, teased her clit with his tongue. Electric sparks shot through her. He sucked slow and deep. Hard and fast. Alternating. Devouring. She whimpered, threading her hands through his hair.

His fingers slipped inside her, moved in and out.

Oh. God. His fingers gyrated inside, against her. She cried out. How was he doing that? How was he…?

That lovely wet tongue. Those bending, snaking, strumming fingers. Her core tightened around him. She writhed and moaned.

His tongue played against her sweetness faster, faster. His fingers played inside her, quick and nimble, as if he’d played this instrument a thousand times and knew the exact chords.

She came. Released with a cry of pleasure. A throaty, “God, don’t stop. Don’t stop.”